Bonnefoy's Eleven
by Jean V
Summary: Hetalia AU. An Ocean’s Eleven remake. Starring Francis Bonnefoy as Danny Ocean, with only one goal in mind: to get Arthur Kirkland back from one Alfred F. Jones, along with a little cash as well – 150 million. Are you in or out?


**Disclaimer: **Ocean's Eleven and Hetalia do not belong to me. This probably means the whole thing doesn't belong to me.

**Notes:** Written for _hetaliasunshine_'s bonus round. Crossposted at LiveJournal.

**Warning:** This is an Ocean's Eleven remake. There will be a lot of similarities. Be prepared.

Comments and critique are welcomed. Please enjoy~!

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**Bonnefoy's Eleven**  
_Chapter One._

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This is show time.

Stepping into the cell, he glances at the two people sitting across the room, a male and a female, both scrutinizing him. Unfazed, he sits down on the sole chair in the middle, flashes a light smile, and waits for either of them to speak.

He does not have to wait long.

"Good morning," the female is the one to speak. Her tone is strict, hard, and unforgiving. But he has already found out her weakness.

His smile grows less of a sleaze and more innocent as he returns the greeting.

"Please state your name for the record."

He keeps up the smile and adds a few thousand watts to it. "Francis Bonnefoy."

"Thank you," the female jots it down quickly, and glances up again, her eyes already fixed on his smile. "Mr. Bonnefoy, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether if released you are likely to break the law again. While this was your first conviction, you have been implicated, though never charged, over a dozen of con schemes and frauds. What can you tell us about this?"

Francis glances down, wrings his hands in a gesture of regret and heaves a sigh. "As you've said, ma'am, I was _never_ charged."

The two in front look like they are having constipation.

It is the male's turn to speak. "Mr. Bonnefoy, what we're trying to find out was, was there a reason that you chose to commit this crime or," there is a pause, which Francis supposes is for dramatic effect, though there really isn't any, in his honest opinion. "Was it simply that you got caught this time?"

He has to think that through.

No, he is just kidding. Francis has already thought of his answer since last night. "The love of my life left me. I was upset. I got into a self-destructive pattern." Sympathy, that is what he notices in the female's eyes, flashing as he says that.  
_  
Hook._

She swallows. "If released, is it likely for you to fall back into a similar pattern?"

Francis shrugs, putting on a brave face. "Ah well, he already left me once. I don't think he can do it again just for kicks." He offers a forced smile. The sympathy gets stronger.  
_  
Line._

He notices that she is not reading from her notes anymore. "Mr. Bonnefoy, what do you think you would do if released?"

His smile is perfectly angelic. "Why, be a good citizen, of course."  
_  
And sinker._

&&&

The taste of freedom is only slightly soured by the single silver band that falls out of the manila folder. The only worthy possession on his being when he got arrested. Francis smiles; it is a small, almost bitter one. He twirls it around his finger idly as he steps out of the prison gates, hand raised in a slight farewell to the guards, to everything that speaks of entrapment, and walks away, for what he hopes, but does not really think, to be the last in this lifetime.

For Francis Bonnefoy is indeed, a con man. And a very brilliant one too, he adds mentally. The first time to be caught in such an endeavor has undoubtedly left a bad image for him, but Francis does not let that stop him.

Trial and error.

The first major principles you learn in school.

Francis is going to rise on the spot where he has fallen from.

But before that, he will be needing some help.

A nice shower, a clean shave and a good haircut afterwards, Francis stands before a semi-grand casino. The sight of it looming above him breaks him off from his thoughts and he brings up his hair into a ponytail as he steps inside, tipping a winning smile at a group of ladies chatting quietly in the corner of the cafe. Hearing their giggles and feeling their gazes at his back and derriere, Francis smiles to himself as he lands on the second floor, at the heart of the casino.

He feels much more comfortable now, in a fashionable suit. The fabric is much less scratchy than those prison clothes.

The noise volume reaches a high here, with people talking and putting bets. Francis gazes around him in interested amusement as he strides seemingly aimless around the place, finally coming to a stop at an empty table.

He catches the eye of a tall big man, of Cuban descent, judging by the color of his skin, in the casino's uniform, who comes to take over the table and relieve the woman on duty. Francis smiles at her before she leaves, murmuring a word of thanks.

"You have a good one," the Cuban says in passing to the woman, and turns to greet Francis, like they all do at the casinos. "And how are you, sir?" Francis regards the chips in his hands thoughtfully, then raises his head to meet the eyes of the Cuban.

"_Bonjour_, Fidel."

He could see the Cuban's mind whirling as his hands freeze, his eyes shifting to meet his. There is a flash of teeth, somewhat stained yellow with cigar traces, digging down into the flesh of the lips, before the Cuban regains his composure. "I beg your pardon, sir. You must've confused me with someone else. My name is Ramon, as you can see right here." He gestures at the flashy, bronze name tag on his shirt.

Francis almost laughs out loud, but stops himself in time, transforming his mirth into a mysterious lift of the corners of his eyes. "Ah _oui_, it's my mistake. _Je suis desole._"

"No problem, sir."

He rises from his seat with a sigh. Fidel, or Ramon, whichever he prefers more, glances at him. "The table's cold."

"You might want to try the lounge, sir. It's busiest at one o'clock." There is a pause as the Cuban glances around him. "You never know; might find your friend there."

Francis tilts his head in contemplation. "One o'clock, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

A smile comes naturally to his lips as he consults his watch. Twelve forty five. Enough time for him to order a martini as he waits. "_D'accord._" He tips a discreet wink at the other."_Merci bien_, Ramon."

&&&

Fidel arrives right when the clock strikes one. He is in a plain leather jacket and jeans – out of his uniform. An early leaving time for a casino worker, Francis notes afterwards.

"Checking out the current events?"

Francis smiles, puts down the paper he has been perusing, and pushes a glass of alcohol towards the other man as he sits down next to him. "_Bonjour_, Ramon."

Fidel grins. "Glad to meet you. Fidel Catton can't get past the Gamer Board."

The Frenchman finds himself nodding as well. "Ah _oui, c'est vrai_." Fidel, like him, has served time in prison as well.

The other ignores it as he gulps the drink down. "Just got out?"

"This afternoon." Francis takes a sip from his glass. "So have you seen our Gillyfish?"

Fidel frowns. "Unless I heard wrong, he was teaching movie stars how to play cards." He glances at the Frenchman with a suspicious look in his eyes. "Why d'you ask? You have a plan already?"

Francis chuckles, putting down his drink, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass. "Are you kidding, _cheri_? I just became a citizen again."

But the smile on his face and the look in his eyes tell Fidel otherwise.

And he couldn't help but anticipate for it.

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**A/N:** It's a bit similar (exactly the same) as the movie, but I swear it'll be (a little) different soon!

And sorry for the lack of a decent A/N! I'm not feeling well today. :(

Peace,

Jean V.


End file.
